


This is the Last Time I Work With the Feds, You Hear Me?

by LinnetMelody



Category: due South
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blackmail, Drug Dealing, Kidnapping, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinnetMelody/pseuds/LinnetMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Kowalski is awesome at undercover.  He can dance to the beat.  He can roll with the punches.  ...Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Last Time I Work With the Feds, You Hear Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ds_kinkmeme. Prompt: _F/K The guys accidentally have sex without knowing it until later. Gloryholes, costume party, or some other way they are anonymous until after the fact, and then deal with finding out._
> 
> I don't think this turned out exactly like the prompter wished, since I wrote it all in the wee hours of the morning and my "deal with finding out" bit suffered due to author's exhaustion. However, I've always been fascinated with RayK's thought processes and used this to explore it a little.

There were tasseled pasties hanging from the light fixtures.

Ray could honestly say that, by this point in his evening, the thought really didn’t shock him. He spared one brief thought as to how in the world someone had gotten them to stay, but the light fixtures weren’t as interesting to view as what the pasties were _designed_ to be attached to. He focused again on the hulking bouncer in front of him.

“Ya mean, I gotta wait?” Ray injected a little whine into his voice and listed drunkenly to one side. “I thought this was s’posed t’be a party! I’m here, man, I’m here to party, let’s party!”

“Back down the stairs,” the brute repeated, and fuck, Ray was getting too old for this. Ten years ago, hell, even five years back, he’d have had the lock picked and be safe out of sight by the time the giant lug made his rounds. _Ten seconds too slow, Kowalski._

“Nooooo,” Ray wailed pathetically. “All the fun stuff’s gonna be up here! I mean, yeah? There’s that whole crowd down there, an’ I’m up here, an’ I’m _first_ , an’ I don’t wanna let all those punk kids go in front. I ain’t no Sloppy Seconds Joe!” Ray thrust out his jaw in a belligerent pout, and did his best to look immovable while weaving in place.

“Here, now, what’s all this, then?” A smoothly accented voice broke in from behind him, and Ray didn’t have to fake his jerk of surprise all that much. _Old **and** deaf. Geez, Detective, you think you still got what it takes?_ Dark-haired going silver, the man wore a well-tailored suit that probably cost more than all the clothes in Ray’s closet at home put together.

“Sorry, Mr. Leone, I was escorting this man back down—“

“Leone?” Ray blurted, squinting. “Oh, hey, you’re the fucker invited me! Tell ole Billy Bob here t’let me in a room, wouldja? I’m ready for that sweet-talkin’ I was promised.”

“…And you are?” The voice didn’t change, but Ray saw the corners of Leone’s mouth twitch downward in slight distaste.

“Richardson,” Ray hiccupped. “Calvin Richards’n. M’uncle Tony wanted me to see wha’ kinda operation you got goin’ here.” He swiveled his head to glare beadily at the bouncer. “Can’t say’s I like it, so far. No hospitality.”

“Ahh,” Leone exclaimed. “Of course, of course, Mr. Richardson. I remember your uncle fondly from my days at Eaton. Very canny head on that pair of shoulders.” Ray could see the wheels turning behind the man’s eyes. _Yeah, moron, no pissing off the rich bratty bachelor. Soothe my feathers, already._

“Yeah, well, ain’t nothin’ ‘tween his legs these days,” Ray smirked and shook his head in patently false sorrow. “Best hookers in Manhattan couldn’t help him, so I doubt there’s anything here he’d …appreciate. Not like me.” He leered, jerking his head back at the bouncer. “So’m I goin’ back down the stairs, here, and out the front door, and back to Uncle Tony? Or what?”

“Joshua, you may return back down to watch over the rest of our guests.” Smoothly, Leone turned and waved an expansive arm down the garishly decorated hall. “Come right this way, Calvin.”

Ray grinned widely and slung a companionable arm around the man whose neck he’d spent the past four hours wanting to snap. “I knew you were smart. Uncle Tony likes the smart ones. Le’s go!”

In Ray’s ear, the tiny flesh-colored earbud started to murmur. _”Kowalski, the team’s going to go in blind unless you give us some clues. We’ll bust him, but we need to know more. Any way you can keep him talking?”_

Ray’s teeth ground painfully in his head. They couldn’ta told him that before he started coming off like the spoiled rich nephew? Confidences – especially quick ones – required a whole different hook, he wasn’t sure he had enough time to bait a new one and have Leone bite it before they got where they were going. He tried anyway. “Man, that’s lotsa doors. Eight… nine… are you really plannin’ on lettin’ everybody try ‘em out? How many girls you got up here, anyhow?”

Leone grinned. Ray was reminded of a documentary he watched once with Dief about chimpanzees and how they bared their teeth at each other. “It’s an open bar, my dear boy, I don’t anticipate everyone needing to, ah, sample the merchandise. Some of them might be content to merely…watch.”

Ray’s breath hitched briefly, and in his ear the murmuring grew in intensity. _”Oh, fuck me, they’ve got a feed somewhere. Franks! See if there’s closed circuit in that building, a security office or something. Monitors, there’ll be tapes of the whole damned thing if we don’t get—“_ Ray drowned out the frenzied voice with a wheezing laugh.

“Watching? Hah, that’s no fun. Y’gotta get in there, get your hands all dirty, that’s where the real fun comes in, ya know? Those who can, do, an’ those who can’t—“ and Ray grabbed his crotch and rubbed it lewdly, “—watch.”

Leone’s eyes gleamed. “You consider yourself quite the ladies man, I see.”

“There’s not a chick in this whole place I can’t have, Leone. Money talks, and my uncle can buy and sell your business three times over. All’s I gotta do is mention the Riviera an’ a tub fulla champagne and it’d be like shootin’ fish in a barrel.” Ray let himself swagger a little and satisfied himself with the flash of annoyance in Leone’s eyes.

“Well then, young fellow, I think I’ve got the perfect set up for you…”

~*~*~*~*~

Ray had no idea if there were pasties stuck to the lights in the bedroom, because the light wouldn’t. Fuckin’. _Work_. In the few seconds he had while flipping the light switch on and off, he muttered “Send the team in now, Samuels, there’s nothing more I can give you on this end.”

 _"They’re nearly ready, Kowalski. We’ve got control of the electronics, just waiting for the last team to get into pos--- ohhh, shit.”_

“I really, really hate it when you end your sentences like that, Samuels.”

 _"Out. Everyone, out of the van. No, Franks, that means you, too. I got this! Get out.”_ There was a second or two where Ray just breathed, darkness in the room and behind his eyelids, slumped against the door. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he really wasn’t going to like what he heard next. Sure enough… _”Ray? Hey, Ray, can you hear me?”_

“Yeah,” he sighed.

 _”Okay. Look, man, we got the electronics nailed, like I said. They’ve got two live feeds coming from the room you’re in, and it looks like they routed it to the security center downstairs, where they were gonna tape it for blackmail. But they also…”_ Samuels sighed harshly, a fast gust of breath against the mic. _”They’ve also got it wired to the big screen set up over the bar.”_

Ray stopped breathing for a moment.

 _”Ray? Ray, you hear me? Everyone downstairs can see you, man.”_ Ray reached out blindly and flicked the light switch again. Still dark. Hell, even the street light outside the window was busted, Ray could barely see the outline of the bed four feet in front of him. _”It’s black and white, it’s not great quality, but they … I … can see you. And now we come to the bad news.”_

Ray smiled mirthlessly into the dark and started stripping off his tie.

 _”You’ve got to hold out for about twelve minutes before we can cut the power on the feed.”_

Twelve minutes. Jesus. There’s a lot could happen to a girl stuck in a locked room with a drunk man in twelve minutes. Ray swallowed dryly and walked forward to the edge of the bed, crumpling up his tie and tossing it in a corner.

~*~*~*~*~

As yet there’d been no sound from the bed – or from anywhere else in the room, for that matter – and Ray reached forward blindly when he got to the mattress, sliding a hand across the comforter. His fingers touched skin, warm with a light dusting of hair: an arm?

 _”—gotta play for ‘em, man. I know this isn’t your thing. Hell, I don’t think it should be anybody’s thing. But you gotta play the part. You hear me? No matter—“_

“Shhhh,” Ray breathed. He smoothed his hand up the surprisingly muscular arm to a bare shoulder and whispered, “Hush now. I got you.”

Bells were going off faintly in the back of Ray’s brain as he paused to kick his shoes off. His eyes had adjusted to the near-absolute dark as far as they were likely to, and Ray blessed and cursed it in his head. One, the girl couldn’t see him. And B, he couldn’t give her reassurances about her safety if she couldn’t see him. And on the third hand, if he had to take this as far as he thought he might? She’d never see his face.

He wasn’t sure if being grateful for that made him a slimeball.

 _Get it together, Kowalski. It’s a gig. Pretend it’s Stella. Pretend it’s Louise Jacobsen from sixth grade math class. Pretend it’s that blonde you saw in the coffee shop this morning._ Ray fumbled with his belt, swaying drunkenly as he ducked his head down to peer at the punch hole he couldn’t actually see. He tugged the leather, comically pulling himself in a circle as he struggled with it. _Leone wants his guests to have a show. Oblige the man, Stanley. Just ... do it really fuckin’ slowly._

When his suit pants at last hit the floor, Ray kicked one leg free and staggered onto the edge of the mattress. He landed heavily, and in the darkness he heard a sharp intake and a low, rumbly “Mmm?”

One part of Ray’s brain analytically congratulated him on playing the pissy rich brat to apparent perfection, as he’d managed to annoy Leone enough that the “perfect set up” ended up being "highly challenging." The other part of his brain started gibbering frantically about how there was no way he’d be able to pretend this was Stella because _holy shit, this was a man!_

Ray froze. Only for a second or two, and then his fingers moved, undoing the small pearl buttons down his shirt. Inside, his brain was still yelling, shit like "this ain’t like Stella" and "Leone wanted to humiliate me really bad, huh?" and "eleven minutes." And overlaying all that was the knowledge that this man -- if he was anything like the girls they’d been tracking – had been drugged and dragged here against his will.

The man’s breathing had gotten faster, actually, and was now sounding sorta panicked. He hadn't said anything, though, and Ray repeated his earlier whisper. “Easy, there. It’s okay.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t talk, alright? It’s … we’re gonna get you home.”

“Mmm! Mm mmmm!”

“Ah, shit, they gagged you?” Ray finished unbuttoning his shirt and left it hanging, open, off his shoulders. He reached forward again, bending low, and ran his hand across that wide shoulder and up the column of the man’s neck, reaching his chin. Plastic met his fingers. “Duct tape, I’m guessing.” His whisper grew harsh for a moment. “That’s gonna sting like a bitch coming off.”

“Mmmm!”

 _Acting, Detective. They can see you, asshole._ Through the rage and panic thrumming though his system, Ray summoned his most evil smile as he rested the tips of his fingers on the smooth surface of the tape. _Let them see how you feel. Like you’re glad he can’t talk back. Like you’re pleased as punch he can’t bite, or yell, or scream… Oh Jesus._ He held the smile even as he swallowed against the sick feeling in his stomach.

 _Do this, or you’re both dead, Kowalski._

Leone was one smart cookie. Cheap as fuck, as evidenced by the tacky decorations and the busted lights, but smart. He couldn’t buy out his competitors, but he could embarrass them, or blackmail them, get a little income on the side. And with something like this, he could not only hold Tony Richardson over a barrel, but make good with the new blood coming up in the company. “Calvin” would either have been too drunk to appreciate the intended insult, or – as Ray was about to do – take advantage of it and supply enough blackmail material to keep Leone’s pockets lined for years.

Kidnapping teenagers for sex wasn’t the least of it. Means to an end. Ray hated the bastard already, but now he really wanted to kill him.

As it turned out, the tape wasn’t the only restraint Leone had seen to supply. After only a moment or two, Ray could tell that not all of the Ro the man’d been given had worn off yet. Ray kept a lascivious grin on his face as he ran fingers over his bare chest, fingers stopping to tap and trace the tiny nubs of his nipples. One hand flopped upwards, sliding heavily down Ray’s arm to pluck feebly at his roaming fingers.

“None of that,” Ray breathed. “The play’s the thing.” He dipped his head and spent a moment --twenty seconds should do it-- licking and tracing his tongue over warm flesh.

 _…or, hey, maybe longer._ God, he tasted good.

Ray’s eyes couldn’t see. His ears weren’t getting anything but heavy nose-breathing to work with, and he was fairly certain that was all panic. _Yeah, kid, I’m kinda panicky too. While we’re in this boat, you wanna grab one of the oars? I can’t row for shit._ Ray’s imagination, however, was supplying all sortsa things he couldn’t confirm. The kid had short hair, but was it dark? Olive skinned, tan, white as snow? Grey eyes, brown eyes, sky-blue? If it wouldn’t have ruined his career ( _and his partnership, shut up Ray, we’re not going there_ ) he’d have taken the lighter out of his pocket just to have a slight flame to see by.

But this kid hadn’t asked for any of this. Probably just wanted a night out dancing, being with his buddies, meeting a pretty girl ( _not a cocksucking pervert with an overactive imagination_ ) and having a few drinks. Ray was finding himself growing hard, Jesus, just from the taste of the guy. His stomach twisted in shame as he kissed and licked his way over the flat, smooth planes of the man’s abs.

“Mm. Mmm! Mmm mmm!”

 _No can do, buddy. Gotta make it look good. Seven minutes left._ The man’s jerky thrashing was growing stronger, and Ray grabbed one flailing hand and held it tightly, tucking himself in close. “Samuels,” he murmured.

 _”…Yeah, Ray, I’m here.”_

“I need to know where the cameras are. Give me some angles.” The body under him had gone completely still, and Ray took advantage of that and put two of the man’s fingers in his mouth and started sucking.

 _”Two in the room. One over the mirror at the head of the bed, and one over the western-most window. ETA is still a little over five minutes.”_

Near the top of his head, Ray heard a deep inhale. He set his teeth ever-so-gently into the skin of the fingers cradled in the warm cavern of his mouth and growled low, a warning. _No yelling. Not now. We’re almost done._ His tongue teased the webbing between the two fingers, sliding slick and hot and wet down the groove and wrapping around one knuckle. The inhalation emerged, instead, as a not-very-steady moan. “Mmmm-mm!”

Ray let the fingers slide out of his mouth, his tongue trailing lovingly down over the pads of the fingers, before rising up onto his heels. He heard the man’s arm thump back down onto the mattress. He grinned and shucked the shirt off, sitting back on his haunches in full display for both cameras. His cock was thick and pointing up to his belly, dribbling a little from the tip and he resisted rubbing its hot length against the thigh between his knees.

 _A show, Stanley. Give ‘em a show._

Five minutes? Oh, he could do five minutes. Hell, he was already fucked. Even if the tapes running downstairs didn’t get this, sure as shit Samuels wouldn’t be able to keep his damn mouth shut. Ray’s career, such as it had been, was about to get expon—expa-- a whole lot harder to complete while breathing. _Hell, after this I may need to move out of state. Wonder if Canada would take me?_

And that, that right there, was Ray’s weak spot. From the moment the word Canada entered his head, he could see him, clear as day and twice as freaky. Fraser, at parade-rest, eyes staring into the middle-distance as his statue-shift started. Flashlight under his chin and grinning at Ray as he started another Lou Skagnetti tale. White-knuckled grip on the dashboard and creased line between his eyebrows as Ray took a hard turn after a perp. With a groan, Ray tipped his head back and closed his eyes and reached down to take himself in hand.

He hadn’t been hard long, but the pressure of his hand still felt really damned good. He stroked slow, tight, only the pre-come gathered at the tip to slick his way. It felt rough, and it felt hot, and it felt amazing. His thumb rolled across the tip, spreading and teasing, and he huffed out a breath and let his imagination fly.

Fraser’d be _focused._ Like the world’s toughest word problem laid out all in front of him and he’d have to bring all his attention to bear on it or it wouldn’t get solved. _All_ his attention. The image of Fraser in Ray’s head did that lip-licking thing, a flick of pink against a deeper, darker pink, wet and shiny and ohh, he wanted to taste that so bad. And he wanted Fraser to taste him right the hell back. All over. Lick the shell of his ear, and the hollow of his collarbone, and that scar on his hip.

And maybe Frase’d hold him. Like, really folded-up-in-your-arms-tight hold him, so he couldn’t breathe and felt surrounded and warm and _loved._

The sound Ray made then was probably a little choked and wet, but there was no one to hear him but Samuels and the kid between his knees and dozens of faceless strangers who were staring at his cock and watching him jack off. Ray reached between his legs with his other hand and rolled his balls between his fingers, tugging and cupping and fondling. He did everything he knew he loved best, because his eyes were shut and this was his fantasy and the Fraser in his head wanted to watch.

His mouth opened and words began spilling out, low and rough and babbling, but he could give a rat’s ass. The Fraser in his head had wide, blue eyes that drank him in, and warm hands, and a smile that accepted all of Ray’s freakishness and returned it tenfold. That Fraser wanted to run his hands through Ray’s hair, and kiss him, tongue-fuck him so deep and wet. And he’d taste sooo good, Ray’d feel him on his lips for days.

Ray’s hands were working in tandem now. Tight and hard, getting faster, and his thighs were shaking from kneeling in one position for too long, and the kid under him was shifting and breathing hard, and Ray could hear a hoarse voice moaning in the hot, sticky air. “—taste you, put my lips everywhere, Christ, wanna feel it so deep inside, never leave, you can’t ever leave me I’d die, oh _God--“_

Ray felt the edge rushing closer, and pictured Fraser’s small, bashful smile – one of his _real_ ones, by God, Ray had known it was in there somewhere – and let himself fall over the precipice just as the screaming started.

~*~*~*~*~

Ray spent three days at his cousin Marcie’s house in Skokie. He called Welsh and said the Feebs were done with him and everything went well. Welsh told him one of the other precincts had loaned some new recruits to help handle the minutiae of filing and learning how to actually operate the computer systems, so the sooner he got back, the better, but not before Monday. Ray thanked him, called him a granite-covered marshmallow, and hung up before Welsh could take his permission back.

For three days, Ray weeded flowerbeds and oiled hinges and replaced boards on the front porch. He changed the oil on the car and bought new tires and used one of the old ones to make a tire swing beside the house for the neighbor kids to play on. He bought groceries for Marcie’s kitchen and fertilizer for her flowers and was careful not to leave his beer bottles where they’d make rings on the coffee table.

He did not think about his job.

He dreamed, repeatedly, about the last twenty minutes of That Last Gig, where Samuels spoke in his ear and told him it was over while Ray panted to catch his breath. Where in the darkness he could see the faint outline of the kid’s hand as he pawed at his own face, not coordinated enough yet to yank off the duct tape. Could see the faint wobble in his knees as he staggered out the door into the darkened hall, clothes balled in his hands and drying streaks of come shining up his forearm and chest. Dreamed about the Fraser in his head, smiling and smiling and smiling…

After four days away, he was more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life.

There were six messages on his machine when he got home, one from Frannie, one from Welsh, two from some telemarketing service, one from Fraser, and one from Samuels. He called Samuels back first, agreed to come finish his report and answer questions, if there were any left. Frannie he assured he’d be at Sunday dinner next week, apologies to Ma that he missed it, and he left a message with Turnbull telling Frase he’d pick him up Monday afternoon like usual. He called Welsh with a sick feeling in his gut.

“You back?”

“Yep. Be in bright and early in the morning.”

“Good. These morons may know how to spell and how to type, but they don’t know how to ask the right damn question. I need my officers with actual insight back here, being insightful.” And he hung up, leaving Ray smiling and feeling a little better.

The precinct was noisy as usual, with the night shift going home and the day shift giving ‘em grief. No one looked twice at Ray as he made his way to his desk, and the man sitting at it.

“Detective Kowalski.”

“Special Agent Samuels.” Samuels didn’t offer his hand, and Ray stuck his fists in his pockets.

“On behalf of my entire team, and my agency, I want to thank you for your help and dedication in last week’s op. Without the intel you provided, we would not have rescued half the people we did.” Samuels’ eyes were steady and dark, his face and voice solemn.

“Uhh. You’re welcome, sir.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Thanks to you, we caught fifteen criminals, with ties to four major crime lords in three cities. If there is anything -- _anything_ \-- in my power to help you in return, I hope you will consider it done.”

Ray blinked. He couldn’t mean…?

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing an official recommendation to your Lieutenant, and just wanted to make certain that you understood, personally, how much I know about the difficulties of working under pressure. You handled yourself with aplomb, and there is no one who’s aware of it as I am.”

Ray’s brain was again gibbering, with one awed voice realizing _Holy shit, I owe the Feebs_ and the other one cynically replying _Oh thaaaaaat can’t end well._ He managed to open his mouth and stammer something suitable – he hoped – and Samuels dipped his head politely and left.

~*~*~*~*~

At the consulate that afternoon, Ray strolled in to see a beaming Turnbull, who ushered him quickly into the kitchen. “Please have a seat, Detective. And a scone! I made them this morning. There’s rum butter, pecan, and blue--“

“Thank you kindly, Turnbull. If you’d give us a moment, please.” Fraser’s quiet voice echoed oddly in the room, and Turnbull blushed before beaming at Ray again and scampering out the door.

“Has he been into the special sugar bowl again, or somethin’?” Ray blinked after the departing Mountie and then forced himself to face Fraser.

He was wearing brown today. Buttons shiny and bright against the material and accentuating the leanness of his legs and hips. He stood against the wall of the kitchen, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze centered on Ray. “I imagine he’s glad to see you. As am I.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad to see him too, I guess? Though if that’s him being _glad_ to see me, I’ve gotta say I don’t think he can hack it in Chicago. If he ever gets angry in traffic, no one would be able to tell!” Ray smirked at Fraser and picked up a blueberry scone. Turnbull really did know how to cook, and far be it from him to turn down free food.

Fraser looked down at the linoleum and raised his thumb to scratch at his eyebrow. Uh oh. Ray stopped chewing and frowned. That’s the Fraser’s-nervous-and-about-to-bring-up-something move. “What? What is it? What’s happened?”

“Ray, I --- Well.” Fraser actually looked _lost_. “I’m not really sure how to bring this up, Ray.”

“How to bring – what the fuck, Frase, you just open your mouth and talk! It’s not rocket science, it’s just putting words together. So put ‘em together, I’ll ask you for a translation after, if I don’t get it.” Ray finished the scone and dusted his hands.

“Very well, Ray. Ah.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath and blurted, “Last week I was asked on an outing by Francesca in the park and she requested Diefenbaker stay here at the consulate and while on route I was approached by some very suspicious-looking gentlemen who informed me that I was needed straight away and wouldn’t tell me where and when I tried to question them more thoroughly they grabbed me by my arms and –“ and here he gulped and the look on his face turned from lost to scared. “And they injected me with something and then I don’t know exactly what happened.”

Ray couldn’t feel his fingers. His ears were ringing and he was pretty sure his breath had stopped.

“I—I didn’t wake up for a while. Not really. There were voices, and someone making me drink something, though I didn’t want to, and when I finally awoke I was … I saw… Ray, I saw…”

“Me?” Ray had no idea how he got the word out. All the blood had drained from his face, he was positive, and from the worried look on Fraser’s face, it didn’t suit him at all.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I saw you. I—I could _smell_ you. You told me it would be okay, and that I was beautiful and that I should never leave you, and that you wanted … you… you wanted to…” And there, the mighty Fraser got stuck. All those words, the words Ray had blithered and babbled and _meant with all his soul_ , and Mr. Walking Encyclopedia stalled out. Fraser couldn’t say it. And if Fraser couldn't bear to say the words, he must have nerves of fuckin' steel to even be in the same room and laying eyes on one Raymond Stanley Kowalski.

Ray shut his eyes against the pain. He wanted darkness. He wanted to find a black hole and pull it in after him. He wanted to not see, not hear ( _like before, only not_ ) and just leave the world behind.

Gentle fingers touched his jaw, and Ray heard Fraser's voice go husky and deep. “You crouched over me, like a warm, golden guardian angel and told me you loved me and that everything would be okay and you. ...God, Ray. You were _beautiful._ ” Those last five words were spoken with such utter awe and wonder that Ray had to look. Had to see the expression that went with that tone, because he’d never heard this before.

And when he opened his eyes, Fraser was looking at _him,_ all that amazement and reverence and … God, that was love. Pouring out of those baby blues and Ray’s chest expanded and filled with air and he was standing up, he was reaching out and leaning in and Ben’s arms wrapped around him tight, tight.


End file.
